


The Beginning of a Long Journey

by FearNoEvil



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Canon - Anime Dub, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FearNoEvil/pseuds/FearNoEvil
Summary: Being free at last from the Spirit's control seems a little too good to be true for Bakura.  Thankfully, his seatmate on the bus knows a lot about young men fearing their darker side's return.





	

Ishizu had booked a bus to take the group back from what remained of Pharaoh’s final resting place to the shore, where they would board the ship back to the mainland. And everyone, even the Kaibas, had climbed aboard meekly and quietly, lost in their own reflections, and remained so.  Not even Joey had a word to say.  Biting his lip to hold back his tears, he was had a gentle protective arm around Téa, who sat beside him, her face buried in his shoulder.  Behind them, Yugi was leaning wearily against his grandfather, who held him close, his eyes gleaming dangerously, but bravely quiet.  The Kaibas sat up front nearest the driver, and behind them were Tristan and Duke, and behind them, Marik and Ishizu.  Bakura could not see their faces, however, from his position directly behind them.  The odd ones out in the sorting of seat partners, he found himself sitting next to Odion Ishtar in the very last row.

And watching their shared grief, dry-eyed, he felt like a pretender.  He was sorry for them, of course – they had lost a great friend in the mighty Pharaoh Atem.  He was especially sorry for poor Yugi in that regard.  He, however, had been too little in control and aware during the Pharoah’s stay with them to have really known the man.  This was fate, naturally – it had always been a struggle between his own Millennium Spirit and Yugi’s, they themselves mere vessels in which to facilitate the reenactment of their ancient war.  Yugi had risen above that, though.  _Yugi_ had been his own person, become a hero in his own right through this experience, whereas _he_ , Bakura, weak sniveling coward that he was, had never found it in himself to be more than the fate dealt to him: a submissive enabler of evil.

Bakura had had three main, strong impressions of the vaunted Pharaoh.  Firstly, gratitude.  He had been the one to (temporarily) drive away the Spirit of the Ring in Duelist Kingdom.  He had been free there longer than he ever had since.  Secondly, anger and mistrust.  He had watched the Pharaoh nearly force Yugi to kill Kaiba in their fateful castle-front duel, driving Yugi to the horror, despair, self-loathing and uncertainty that he knew only too well.  Needless to say, it had not endeared the Pharaoh to him.  It had seemed to prove to him, then, that even if the Spirits had different agendas, his own Spirit’s more actively malicious, they could both be equally ruthless, and equally capable of heedless collateral damage.  But later, he supposed, Yugi’s Spirit must have learned more compassion from his host, as was wont to happen with nearly everyone Yugi came in contact with, for his third impression was of warmth and reassurance.  Having regained consciousness in the middle of a horrific duel atop a blimp in the Battle City quarterfinals, nearly fainting with pain and blood loss from a gaping wound in the arm that he didn’t remember getting, the Pharaoh had been nothing but kind.  He had supported him in his arms, and in a soothing voice, he had told him, “You’re with your friends now, Bakura.”

For the first time all day, Bakura’s eyes prickled.  It was merely the memory of that kindness.  And that was the man who was lost to them now, the man they all mourned, the man whom he’d been denied the honor of knowing and cherishing with them.  That chance – that whole part of his life – had been _stolen_ from him!  And suddenly a great surge of venomous anger washed over him, and his fists seemed to clench of their own accord.  It lasted a split second before he felt a sharp pain in his chest and it gave way to panic, clapping his hand to it.  The Ring!  It had come back again!  It always found a way to come back!  It never left him alone for long!  He should have _known_ –

“Are you – all right, Mr. Bakura?” 

Bakura had felt Odion’s eyes on him from the moment he moved, but hadn’t really been sure the silent man knew his name.  There was no Ring under his shirt, of course, no matter how hard he dug and felt for it.  There was nothing there, and he was being a fool and panicking over nothing, and of course the anger had been entirely his own – he couldn’t go blaming it on an evil spirit this time. Forcefully he took his hand away from his chest and laid it deliberately on his knee, where it trembled.  Then he faced Odion.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, when he found his voice, inclining his head in polite gratitude for Odion’s concern, “it’s – well – I had the Ring for such a long time, you know . . .”

“Mmmm,” Odion gave a knowing nod. He closed his eyes, looked away again. Bakura was sure that would be the end of the interaction, but suddenly, as if driven by an impulse of the soul, Odion reached over and put his steady hand over Bakura’s shaking one.  “Master Marik,” he said, slowly, looking Bakura intensely in the eye, “has often feared the return of the darkness that once consumed his heart.”  The grip on his hand tightened.  “So I shall tell you what I have told him countless times: that darkness has been sealed away for good.  It was for that purpose that this final game of the Pharaoh’s memories was played.  You have nothing left to fear, Mr. Bakura.  It cannot control you again.”

Bakura felt his eyes prickle from kindness again, so he gave a short breath of laughter and another grateful little head-bow.  Driven by the necessity of pure, desperate lightheartedness, he heard himself say, “You know he was in my head once, too?  Your Master Marik?”

“Master Marik,” observed Odion heavily, his eyes drifting over to where Joey and Téa were clinging to each other, “has been in the heads of half the people on this bus.”

The way he said it was so matter-of-fact it was almost comical – even if it was an exaggeration of the actual proportion.  “Has he – ever been in yours?” Bakura wondered aloud.

“Only to communicate,” Odion returned.  “He never _needed_ to control me by force.”

There was a new look in his eyes now when he faced Bakura this time, and Bakura, for his part, knew it at once: guilt.  And from it another memory stirred between them, of that same horrible day atop the blimp in Battle City – Odion, impersonating his Master, threatening, as Bakura wailed in pain and nearly fainted on the dueling platform.  As if _Bakura_ had the right to hold a grudge against him for merely being an enabler of another’s cruel actions, being forced to act against his conscience! _Especially_ since he’d been holding back something far worse, and in the end, had aided his Master in conquering it again.  Bakura placed his other hand on the one still holding his.  So perhaps not by force, but still . . .

“Does he still _make_ you call him ‘Master’?” Bakura asked.

“No,” Odion replied, “but – well . . .”

Bakura nodded his own understanding.  “You were never very free, yourself, then, were you?”

For a second, Odion looked like he would reply in anger.  Those kinds of insinuations – he’d just insulted the man’s Master, hadn’t he?  His most beloved brother!  Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? Bakura tensed in apprehension, but instead of defensive retort, Odion’s expression softened suddenly, and he shook his head with a serene smile.  “No,” he chuckled, “you misunderstand.  Freedom was what Marik dreamed of, freedom from the tomb, freedom from duty, from servitude.  But for me, that wasn’t important.  When a man chooses to dedicate his life to a duty of service to his family – that is his choice, and that is a freedom itself. A man must have the freedom to _choose_ to serve. For me, sir, it wasn’t imprisonment; it was love.”

Bakura took a deep breath, nodding, abashed at his selfish projections.  “I’m s-sorry,” he added, “I just – well, in my case it – it _wasn’t_ love.”  Bakura’s top hand began to tremble again, and so the last of their hands, Odion’s left, joined the stack and made four, gripping those beneath.

“It’s all right,” he said softly.  “That’s all over now.”

Bakura looked desperately at him.  He ought to thank him again, or apologize again, or _something_ , but instead, a different, childish, high-pitched question sprang to his lips. 

“How can you be sure?”

“Because,” said Odion firmly, “it was to banish the return of that very darkness that the Tomb-keeper clan was begun - that darkness that threatened all mankind, which you had been bearing on your own for so long.  And we saw it through, Mr. Bakura.”  He was grinning with pride now. “Our family has done its duty at last.”

Faintly, Bakura returned the smile, and for this transient moment, he let himself believe it, share in the joy and pride.  Let this strange, gentle, quiet, man allay his fears.  The Tomb-keepers had escaped their darkness and entered the light; they had assured that darkness had been sealed away.  Perhaps it was light awaiting him, too, in the end.  Perhaps his life was ahead, and not behind.  He felt his hands still in the warm grip, but already his smile was half-faded – for there was one thing, at least, that he still knew of his own mind.

“Where will you be,” he breathed, with a cynical grin, “when I need to hear that again?”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this principally just for a chance for two of my sidelined faves to interact. It was a blast figuring out how they would interact! I kind of headcanon that Odion has a sort of protective, reassuring instinct for pretty much everyone, though of course not as strongly as with Marik! But Odion could totally recognize some similar issues in the two young men, which would up the instinct even more. And since he was respectful enough to call Joey "Mr. Wheeler" during their duel, I figured that was just kind of his thing.
> 
> Very sorry for uninspired title. It's actually a chapter title in my favorite Dickens novel, David Copperfield, but nobody in their right mind expects you to get the reference, which isn't much of a reference in the first place. 
> 
> This is mildly edited for errors/awkward phrasing/grammar from the first draft.
> 
> Anyways, I'm sort of in the process of conceiving a whole epic saga about Bakura, and I hope the friendship he establishes with Odion here will remain a part of it! Stay tuned!
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed! :)


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